


Say Yes(Once or Twice)

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [76]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunk Sex, Eliot's Family is a bag of dicks, F/F, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, asshole family, drunk married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21796825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: "All right, bitches!" Margo cries as she steps back from the unlocked door, allowing Eliot, Fen, Quentin, Alice, Kady, Penny, Julia and Josh to pile into the beautiful suite. "You have three hours to sleep, shower, eat, whatever the fuck you want, but then you need to be fully prepared to get royally fucked up. Welcome to Vegas, baby!"
Relationships: Fen/Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker
Series: Collaborations [76]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362
Comments: 7
Kudos: 141





	Say Yes(Once or Twice)

"All right, bitches!" Margo cries as she steps back from the unlocked door, allowing Eliot, Fen, Quentin, Alice, Kady, Penny, Julia and Josh to pile into the beautiful suite. "You have three hours to sleep, shower, eat, whatever the fuck you want, but then you need to be fully prepared to get royally fucked up. Welcome to Vegas, baby!"

A cheer goes up from their group, and everyone splits up to claim bedrooms and first shower. Quentin stakes the room with the smallest bed for himself and Eliot; the master bedroom of the suite is going to Penny, Kady, and Julia, since they'll need the largest bed. Margo and Fen claimed the other one-bed bedroom, and Alice and Josh are taking the last bedroom, which has two double beds. There's a bathroom attached to each bedroom, and while Eliot is busy at the in-suite bar, Quentin snags a shower for himself. He's still drying his hair, towel around his waist, when Eliot finally ventures into the room Quentin had claimed for them. "Figured we'd have an easier time sharing a bed than Alice and Josh," Quentin says, briefly muffled by his towel. "Josh might not survive the trip if they had to share."

"I thought you might have wanted to share with Alice," Eliot admits, flopping back onto his side of the bed and spreading his arms and legs out until his knee bumps Quentin's hip. "Not that I'm complaining."

Quentin snorts. “I’d also end up dead before the end of this trip; apparently I’m a restless sleeper, and I snore, and Alice was pretty sick of that by the time we broke up.”

Eliot lolls his head to the side until he can smile at Quentin. "So you thought you'd subject me to that, instead."

"You're less likely to stab me for snoring," Quentin points out, grinning at Eliot. "Plus, you're a cuddler. I won't be a restless sleeper, because you'll have a death grip on my limbs."

"That is true," Eliot muses. "Although if Margo has her way I don't think we'll be doing much sleeping."

Quentin laughs at that. "No, we probably won't," he agrees. "You want to grab a shower before the pre-party party gets started?"

"I suppose," Eliot says, sitting up. "Just a quick one, though. Getting us both ready is going to take a lot of work."

Quentin scowls in mock-offense. "Rude. No faith in my ability to conform to Margo's exacting specifications for her wedding and bachelorette party?"

Eliot doesn't deign to respond. "I'm just glad you let me pack for you," he says. "You're going to look fabulous tonight, darling."

"Of course I am, Margo would never let _any_ of us look anything less," Quentin laughs. "For now, I'm gonna throw on a t-shirt and shorts that haven't been on an airplane with a few dozen strangers for six hours. I'll change into whatever you have planned for me before we head out."

Eliot hums his assent and gets to his feet. Just before he disappears into the bathroom, he hesitates and turns back to Quentin. "Make sure you hydrate before you start letting Margo ply you with alcohol. You didn't drink enough on the plane and tonight's going to be heavy on the tequila."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "Yes, _dear,_ " he says, smirking as he aims a light swat with the towel in his hand at Eliot's leg. "I'll go get something nonalcoholic to drink and make sure everyone else does."

Eliot dodges Quentin’s swat with an easy laugh, and Quentin, smiling, heads out to the main room of the suite after he gets dressed. He pours a large glass of water for himself - Eliot had been right, he hadn’t drank enough water this morning before they left or while they were on the plane - and another for Josh and Alice, who are bickering over the setup of their shared bathroom and where to put their respective shit. “I have it on good authority tonight’s going to be, and I quote, ‘heavy on the tequila,’” he informs them when Alice looks at him questioningly. “So we’d better hydrate.”

The door to Fen and Margo’s room is closed, and Quentin doesn’t even bother knocking, just passing by and thanking whoever built this hotel for including such heavy-duty soundproofing. The door to the master suite, however, is wide open, and Quentin can easily hear the sounds of Julia and Kady pummeling each other with pillows, shrieking in mock-outrage and laughter in turns, and Penny alternating between cheering each of his girlfriends on. Quentin raps his knuckles on the doorframe, smirking when the sound startles Kady and Julia, ruthless in pillow fights, promptly lands a solid hit to the kisser, toppling Kady backwards with an indignant shout. He passes on the same heads-up about hydrating, and when Penny nods, Quentin pulls away from the doorframe; he and Penny haven’t always gotten along, but he knows that Penny will take good care of Julia. 

Quentin heads back to the kitchen, digging through the shelves and fridge looking for something to eat - he’s never been able to eat on planes, and with the party tonight, Quentin doubts he’s going to get much of a chance to eat anything substantial once they get going. He’s munching on a bag of chips, waiting on a frozen pizza in the oven when Eliot finally comes out. “Hey,” Quentin says, offering the chip bag to Eliot. “Everyone else is working out restless energy.”

Eliot takes a handful of chips and starts daintily eating them one by one. "Are you suggesting we do the same?" he asks.

Quentin rolls his eyes, flicking a crumb at Eliot. "Of course not; _I_ don't have any restless energy. If you do, however..." He smirks. "I'll make sure to knock before coming into our room to get changed."

Eliot shrugs. "Don't go to any effort on my account."

Quentin’s smirk deepens. "Careful, El, or I'll start thinking you _want_ me to walk in on something naughty."

"Think what you like," Eliot says, but he's trying not to laugh.

Quentin breaks after a moment, relaxing against the counter as he laughs heartily. "Seriously, though. I'm gonna veg out for the next two hours, otherwise I'm never going to make it through the party."

Eliot sighs and approaches just so that he can get a hand around the back of Quentin's neck and pull him into a forehead kiss. "Make it an hour and a half," he says. "I still need to do your face. I'll be napping in our room if you want to join me."

"Sounds nice," Quentin hums as his phone’s timer starts going off. "I'm going to eat a slice of pizza then I'll come in."

"Wonderful," Eliot says, releasing Quentin and walking away. "I'll be waiting."

* * *

They sleep as they always have on the not-so-rare occasions they've shared a bed, curled up on their sides, facing each other but not touching. Eliot gets them up at exactly the ninety minute mark and hustles Quentin into the bathroom to wash his face. He takes it upon himself to apply moisturiser, though, and then attacks Quentin's face with a frankly ridiculous amount of eyeliner. He doesn't let Quentin look in the mirror until he's done, but when he finally gets to see, Quentin has to admit that he does look kind of sexy. Eliot wholeheartedly agrees.

Eliot pulls out Quentin's clothes for the evening before starting to get ready himself. He takes twice as long as he took with Quentin, but it's worth it when Quentin gets a good look at him. Some of his appreciation must show on his face, because Eliot winks and blows him a kiss before rushing him into the living area.

The girls are just finishing off their hair and fixing their lipstick, and within a few minutes they're all ready to go. Margo pulls Fen against her side and kisses her soundly before turning to the rest of the group. "Finish your drinks, fuckers," she says. "This is going to be the best night of your goddamn lives until the wedding, so you better enjoy it."

Josh whoops, and everyone else is grinning. "Cottage parties ain't got _nothing_ on actual _Vegas!_ " he cheers. 

"Here, here," Kady calls, laughing, from her place tucked against Penny's side. 

"We all remember the plan, right?" Alice asks, and Quentin smiles fondly; if anyone was going to bring up the plan that would undoubtedly go off the rails at some point, it would be Alice. 

"Get drunk, have fun, keep your phone on you and fucking answer it if someone calls, even if you're fucking someone at the time, top or bottom," Fen says, laughing when Alice gives her an exasperated look. "We're drinking and clubbing up and down main street, it'll be hard to get lost, Alice."

"We will play hard," Eliot vows, "but we will play by the rules." He gives Quentin a squeeze and gestures to the door. "So let's go!"

" _Vamanos!_ " Margo cheers, the rest of their friends echoing as they tumble over each to the door, leaving a ringing silence in their wake. 

* * *

Eliot wakes slowly. That alone is unusual - he's used to waking instantly, alert and ready to go in a moment - but he's warm and cosy, a strong arm wrapped around his waist and soft breath... on his... cheek... Eliot opens his eyes. He's still in Vegas, definitely back in his room in their suite, a room he's sharing with Quentin.

_Quentin._

Eliot rolls over, disturbing the arm about his waist and noting that, yes, he's definitely naked, and is gratified when the sleeping man next to him blinks awake. The smile he gets when Quentin sees him takes his breath away, and Eliot finds himself smiling back. "Hi," he whispers.

"Morning," Quentin breathes, his arm settling back around Eliot's waist. "You don't look surprised."

"Are you?" Eliot asks.

"No," Quentin admits, thumb sweeping over the warm skin just above Eliot's hip.

Eliot brings his hand up to touch Quentin's face. "Good," he murmurs, "because--" He breaks off when he sees something glint between his fingers - and freezes. "What is that?"

Quentin blinks, pulling back to look at Eliot's hand. "That... looks like a _ring,_ " he chokes out.

Eliot just stares at it for a long moment, and then he reaches beneath the covers to snatch Quentin's hand up, too. One look at the matching ring on Quentin's finger and it all comes flooding back. "Q. We got married last night."

Quentin's eyes are wide as he looks from Eliot to the simple, cheap-looking silver bands on their fingers and back to Eliot. "Um. Looks like it."

"No," Eliot says, panic mounting, "we actually got married. Legally."

"Oh. Oh _fuck,_ " Quentin swears, his hand twitching in Eliot's as his eyes go impossibly wider. “That’s - _Shit,_ what the hell were we thinking?”

"Crazy, crazy things," Eliot says. He twists away from Quentin, rolling until he can grab his phone from the nightstand and unlock it. It's only on seven percent battery, but it has enough life in it to make Eliot's stomach drop. "I posted about it all over Facebook."

"You _what?_ " Quentin yelps, flailing until he can grab his own phone - it's on ten percent, and he has _so many_ notifications. "Oh, _fuck._ Oh, my God, Margo's gonna kill us." 

He's not wrong, but Eliot has more pressing concerns. "My brothers have seen it," he says, far more calmly than he feels. "They've told my parents."

Quentin sits upright, looking at Eliot with wide eyes. "Oh, shit. How - How bad is it?"

Eliot just hands his phone over without a word.

Quentin takes the phone, scrolling quickly through Eliot's Facebook - he'd tagged Quentin in all of the photos he'd posted, of them in a bar, a club, on the streets, in the chapel and afterward, heading back to their hotel, the both of them flashing their rings at the camera, huge smiles on their faces. And on every single one is a string of comments, some supportive from their friends or coworkers, others...

Others far more hateful, from Eliot's bastard family. Quentin feels his scowl growing as he scans through the comments, anger simmering beneath his skin and making him want to punch something. "Do you think," he muses, scowling at one of Darren's - Eliot's oldest brother - comments about how they shouldn't be surprised that Eliot could disappoint his family further, "we could convince Margo to go kill them instead of us?"

"I think she'll be fully intending to do both," Eliot says darkly. He takes the phone back and throws it to the floor, covers his face with his hands. "I can't deal with this. I want to die."

Quentin allows him a moment for his dramatics before he reaches over and lifts one of Eliot's hands up by the wrist. "There are such things as annulments, and divorces, you know. And your family is a bunch of rat-fucking bastards, and you can always block them on Facebook."

Eliot blinks. "I could do that," he says. "Why do I even have them on Facebook to begin with?"

Quentin grins. "Something about wanting to rub your happiness in their stupid homophobic faces."

"Well, I'm succeeding!" There's an edge of hysteria to his laugh. "Except I'm married to my roommate and in a few days I'll have to divorce my roommate."

"Oh, I see how it is," Quentin laughs, though there's a certain _something_ in his eyes that doesn't quite match. "Good enough to be your roommate, not good enough to be your husband? Maybe I _should_ let Margo at you."

Eliot pulls a face. "You know I don't mean it like that."

Quentin's smile softens into something more completely genuine. "I know, I'm just teasing," he says, shifting his grip from Eliot's wrist to his hand, interlacing their fingers and giving him a comforting squeeze. "I promise I'll go easy on you in the divorce."

"You're so kind," Eliot says, but his heart isn't in it. He sighs. "Are we going to deal with the fact that we apparently consummated this marriage as well?"

Quentin hesitates for a heartbeat too long. "We could... chalk it up to being drunk and riding whatever impulse made us get married?" he offers.

"Yes," Eliot says, with more enthusiasm than he's mustered all morning. "Yes, let's go with that."

Quentin doesn't look entirely _happy_ that Eliot accepted his proposal so readily, but he smiles nonetheless. "Cool. So... Rock-Paper-Scissors for who has to step out of this room first?"

Eliot opens his mouth to answer, but doesn't get a word out before there's an almighty pounding on the door.

" _Get out here and face me, you bastards!_ "

Quentin's eyes go wide, and the next thing Eliot knows, he's scrambled off the bed. "She's _your_ best friend, you deal with her!" Quentin calls over his shoulder right before the bathroom door slams shut - and locks. 

Eliot curses Quentin colourfully and fluently, but he gets out of bed, mindful of the increasing force with which Margo is knocking. He at least has the wherewithal to find pants before he opens the door. Margo looks entirely unimpressed with Eliot when the door finally opens, arms crossed over her chest and eyes narrowed. "Where's your _husband?_ "

"Hiding in the bathroom," Eliot admits. "Can we just-- not do this?"

"'This'?" Margo echoes, one eyebrow arching. "What, exactly, do you think 'this' is?"

"You yelling at me for stealing your wedding thunder on the first night of your epic bachelorette weekend?"

Margo narrows her eyes. "Depends. Is it legal? Are you two keeping it?"

"God no," Eliot says - and then checks himself. "I mean, it's definitely legal, but we're getting it annulled as soon as we get home."

" _Seriously?_ " Margo hisses. "Why? This is the perfect - "

"Stop." Eliot holds up a hand. "This is not perfect. This is horrible."

Margo glares at Eliot. "He _agreed to marry you,_ El," she says, voice flat. "Actually, if I'm remembering right, he was the one who suggested it!"

"We were both wasted!"

Margo rolls her eyes. "So were Fen and I the first time she kissed me," she points out. 

"It's a little different," Eliot says tersely. "And it's already been agreed. We're getting an annulment."

Margo rolls her eyes. " _Boys,_ " she huffs, muttering something else in Spanish. "Well, tell your husband to quit hiding in the bathroom. Julia's looking for him."

"Is she going to yell at him?" Eliot asks.

Margo raises an eyebrow. "She's his _childhood best friend,_ practically his sister," she says slowly. 

"So... yes?"

"She's going to give him _so much_ shit, probably delivered at a high volume," Margo confirms. "The sooner he faces the music, the better it will be for everyone."

Eliot sighs. "Is there at least coffee?"

"What do you think we are, barbarians?" Margo scoffs. 

Eliot rolls his eyes. "All right," he says, "we'll be out soon."

* * *

Julia grabs Quentin as soon as he steps out of their room, and drags him into hers. Eliot and Margo listen at the door until it's clear that Julia really is just bitching Quentin out for the same things that Margo had gotten after Eliot for. they retreat to the kitchen, where Eliot finally gets his coffee before he starts making breakfast. The rest of their group trickles in as Julia's voice reaches a new intensity, and Eliot winces at the smirk Josh gives him when Quentin finally ducks out of Julia's room and immediately hides behind Eliot when Julia follows him out. "Just let me eat something before you keep yelling at me," he pleads, hands on Eliot's shoulders. 

"I'm done yelling," Julia says, though she doesn't sound happy about it. "I know I'm not getting through to you."

Quentin frowns at her, but doesn't say anything for a moment, just shifts on his feet behind Eliot, hands drifting down his arms until he finally steps back, though not entirely out from behind Eliot. "There's nothing _to_ get through," he finally says. "It happened, it's a drunken mistake, and we're going to fix it."

" _And_ ," Eliot says, when both Margo and Julia open their mouths, "since we're all agreed that it will be fixed, there's no use in taking attention away from the real reason we're here. What's on the agenda today, Margo?"

Margo rolls her eyes, but allows the change in subject. "Shopping, relaxing, then we're going to a show tonight, so don't relax _too_ hard."

"But don't get too drunk, either," Penny says darkly, pointing at Quentin and then Eliot. "If you two run off and get _married_ on the first night, who knows what other shit you'll get into."

"I doubt we'd find a way to _escalate,_ " Quentin protests, only for Kady to scoff. 

"If anyone could, it would be you two."

"All right, we get it," Eliot huffs, rolling his eyes goodnaturedly. "We'll stay sober for the rest of the trip." He turns to catch Quentin's eye, and winks.

Quentin flushes, and Kady makes a gagging motion. "Don't flirt with your husband over breakfast," she complains. "Some of us are trying to eat here."

"Okay, you make the most out of that," Eliot warns her. "Give me three days, a week tops, and you won't be able to say that ever again."

Julia raises an eyebrow at Quentin, who studiously avoids her gaze. Rolling her eyes, Julia tucks herself in between Penny and Kady. "Honestly, you two should stay married, if only for the legal benefits," she says meaningfully. "You already live in each other's pockets, anyway."

"Literally," Margo adds with a laugh and a Look of her own for Eliot. "I ever tell you about the time I walked in on them trying to get Quentin out of Eliot's jeans?"

"They shrunk in the wash, and I was sleep deprived from grading midterms!" Quentin protests, still not moving from his spot behind Eliot. 

"Please," Eliot huffs. "You wanted to see if your ass would look as good as mine does."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "We _all_ know your ass is the best out of all of ours, that's not even a competition."

Eliot smirks. "Glad to hear it."

"Oh my god," Penny groans.

Quentin points at Penny, finally stepping out from behind Eliot. "Don't front, or I'll tell _everyone_ about your high-as-fuck third year ratings."

"Fuck you, Coldwater," Penny snaps, while Eliot turns, delighted.

"Oh, please tell me more!"

Quentin smirks, opens his mouth to comply - and then squawks in outrage when Penny throws his half-eaten apple at him. Obviously, Quentin has to retaliate, and by the time the food fight is fought to a draw, everyone needs another shower.

* * *

Today's plans go far more smoothly than the night before's; Quentin and Eliot stay true to their promise to remain sober, even through the outrageously over-the-top drag show that Margo and Fen got tickets to. All in all, it's a great day, despite the gaping hole in his wallet from the shopping they did before the show. Quentin even manages to _almost_ forget about what he and Eliot did the night before.

Right up until the two of them walk into their room that night, and Quentin clocks the bed with its still-rumpled sheet from his hasty exit that morning. He nearly swallows his tongue, and stops in his tracks. "Fuck."

"What?" Eliot asks, coming up behind him. He stalls when his gaze falls on the bed, and swallows audibly. "Ah. Fuck."

"Yeah," Quentin says, unable to help the delirious little _giggle_ that slips out. "Fuck. Um. I can - I can go sleep on the couch? It's plenty comfortable."

"Don't be ridiculous," Eliot says, breezing past Quentin and into the room. "We've shared a bed before, we can share one now. It's really not that big of a deal, Q."

"Yeah, well, we've never shared a bed while married and after we fucked each other's brains out the night before," Quentin says before he can stop himself. 

Eliot turns to smirk at him. "Been thinking about that a lot, have we?"

Quentin flushes. "Shut up, it was good sex. You saying you _haven't_ been thinking about it?"

"Of course I have." Eliot winks. "I was spectacular."

Quentin scoffs, grinning despite himself. "I don't know that I'd go _that_ far. Being drunk makes _no one_ spectacular."

Eliot laughs. "Fucking rude," he says. "Maybe I will make you sleep on the couch."

"Married for twenty-four hours and the magic's gone already," Quentin sighs, finally relaxing enough to step further into the room and start getting ready for bed. 

Eliot smiles and grabs his wash bag from the nightstand. "It's really not an issue, Q," he says. "We're just friends who made a bigger drunken mistake than most. No drama required."

Quentin's expression betrays his skepticism, but he doesn’t say anything else until after they're in bed, the lights off and the sounds of the city muffled outside their window. He's lying on his back, hands folded over his chest, and his brain just... won't shut up. "El?" he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard. 

Eliot's on his side, facing away from Quentin, but his posture is relaxed and open. He turns his head slightly when Quentin speaks. "Q?" he whispers back.

"Things... won't be weird after we get this annulled or whatever, right?"

Eliot sighs, and rolls over to face Quentin. He reaches out in the dark until his hand finds Quentin's arm. "I promise," he murmurs. "Everything will go back to normal, and we'll forget all about it in a few months."

Quentin reaches up, lays his hand over Eliot's and tries not to dwell on how _empty_ the space over Eliot's left ring finger feels, ever since Eliot took off the ring Quentin had given him the night before. Quentin doesn't have his on, either, but he'd tucked it away in his suitcase, inside an extra pair of socks. "Okay," he says, letting out a long, slow breath. "Yeah, I'm just... I don't know, my brain wouldn't be quiet."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eliot asks. It's an offer Quentin knows he wouldn't make in the cold light of day.

Quentin hesitates, his hand tightening reflexively around Eliot's. "I just... things get messy with friendships when sex gets involved. A marriage... I don't know. It was mostly just worrying for the sake of worrying. You know how my brain gets." Quentin pauses, licks his lips, and under the false courage of darkness, says, "Julia had a point, earlier."

Eliot's hand tightens slightly on Quentin's arm. "Oh?"

Even though he can't _really_ see anything, Quentin still shifts until he's looking more or less at Eliot. "There's a lot of legal benefits to being married," he says. "And we... We work well together. Managed to survive living together for two years so far, staying married wouldn't be all that different."

Eliot snorts. "What, and we keep sleeping together, too?" he says. "I knew I was spectacular."

Quentin shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. But either way, I - It wouldn't be the worst thing. Being married to you. Might even be nice."

Eliot sucks in sharp breath. "You're being serious."

"Well, yeah. I-I wouldn't bring it up if I wasn't."

"Quentin." Eliot sounds very strange. "We were really drunk, and we made a dumb decision. We're best friends. But marriage? To each other? Sober and in full possession of our senses, that's not me, and it's definitely not you. You're not even..."

"I fucked you, didn't I?" Quentin says, harshly defensive. "And that's - it wouldn't have to be a _romantic_ thing. Or even a sexual thing. But I think it could be a good thing."

"No," Eliot says, so gently. "That's not fair to either of us, Q. What if you meet someone, or you decide to try again with Alice? How are you going to explain that you're still married?"

"That ship has sailed," Quentin snorts without specifying. 

"Well, you never know what else is right around the corner," Eliot says. "A divorce later on down the line will be a lot more complicated than an annulment now."

Quentin swallows, rolling until he's on his back again, removing his hand and dislodging Eliot's in the process. "Yeah, you're right about that," he says quietly. "It was just a thought, anyway."

"I know, Q." Eliot rolls onto his back with a sigh. "Everything will be normal again in a few days."

* * *

They arrange to get their marriage annulled as soon as they get back to New York, and when it's over Quentin can't face going back to the apartment. He leaves Eliot at the courthouse, forcing himself to turn away from the stricken look Eliot gives him, and heads straight over to Julia's place.

She knows he's coming, and has thankfully made sure they'll be alone; she drags him into a tight hug the moment she answers the door to him and ushers him inside. "There's a glass of wine on the coffee table, another two bottles in the fridge," she tells him. "I won't force you to talk about it, but I want you to know that I really think you should."

Quentin gives Julia a grateful look, but doesn't say anything until he's downed a solid half of the overfilled glass of wine. "I just..." He sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. "Is it stupid to say I miss thinking of him like my husband already?"

"It's not stupid," Julia tells him. "I know how you feel about him."

Quentin sighs again, shifting until he can lean against Julia. "I... kinda asked him to keep it. The marriage," he confesses. 

Julia almost chokes on her wine. "Shit," she coughs. "What did he say?"

"He said that when we're sober... It wasn't either of us. Being together as more than friends," Quentin admits quietly. "He implied he was sure I'm straight and just waiting for a chance to get back together with Alice."

Julia reels back as though Quentin struck her. "He said _what?_ " she demands. "You've literally had sex with him twice. And what about Logan in second year? I'm pretty sure El walked in on you two once."

"He walked in on Logan giving me a blowjob after one of the Cottage parties," Quentin reminds her. "And both times we had sex we were drunk, and one of those times was a threesome with Margo."

"Is he _blind?_ " Julia cries. "People don't just _get gay_ when they're drunk! And the rule 'it's not gay if it's a threeway' is the dumbest thing ever. You like sucking cock, Q! Eliot has first hand experience of this. How can he--? I'm gonna kill him." She downs her glass of wine and stands up so she can retrieve her phone from the far end of the coffee table. "I'm gonna call him _right now_ and--"

" _Jules!_ " Quentin snaps, lashing out and grabbing Julia's wrist. "Hey, stop. It's - It's not fine, alright? And yeah, it's stupid. But _he said no._ Okay? He said it wasn't _either_ of us when we were sober and 'in full possession of our senses.' He wasn't just saying he wouldn't do it because he thinks I'm straight with some drunk exceptions. He didn't want to be married to me, period."

Julia hesitates, clearly torn. "It's not just about that, though," she insists. "He's your best friend and he's completely invalidating your existence!"

Quentin can't help a small smile at Julia's vehemence. " _You're_ my best friend, Jules. El's only ever going to play second fiddle to you that way, even if a miracle happens."

Julia's expression softens. "I know that, Q," she says. "But he still shouldn't get away with straight-washing you. It's not fair."

Quentin chuckles. "Well, if you want to tell him he's being biphobic, I won't stop you. But I don't want to spend all afternoon talking about my failed four-day-long marriage, alright? You said there's more wine, so let's put it to good use."

Julia obligingly grabs the half-empty bottle beside her phone instead, and sits back down to top both of their glasses up. "Another two bottles in the fridge," she reminds him. "There might also be another two under the sink in case this turns into an emergency."

Quentin grins, taking his refilled glass and reaching for the remote. "I don't think it’ll be _that_ dire, unless we start watching something like _27 Dresses._ "

* * *

Several hours later, back at their apartment, Eliot's phone vibrates with an incoming text message. He's already drunk enough that it takes him several attempts to unlock the home screen, and once he's opened the message, it takes him several more attempts to comprehend its meaning.

"Why," he asks Margo, and the world at large, "is Julia calling me a little bitch?"

Margo finishes her drink before she reaches for the phone. "Because you are one," she says. "Lemme see."

Eliot hands it over willingly. He wasn't kidding. The text message just reads, **youre a little bitch waugh**.

Margo snorts, fingers flying over the keyboard. **y?**

The response is almost immediate.

**you really hurt q you biphobic bitch**

Margo scowls, showing Eliot the screen. "What the fuck?" she demands. "You were being a biphobic bitch?"

"No," Eliot says, instantly defensive. "Of course not. I just told him I didn't want to stay married to him."

"Then why is Julia calling you a biphobic bitch?" Margo presses, unconvinced. 

Eliot's eyes widen. "Listen," he says, very seriously. "You _know_ I'm not biphobic. I'm not anything-phobic, except when it comes to bigoted hick assholes like my family. Julia is just projecting because I told Q there would be something fundamentally amiss with continuing our marriage, because he doesn't like boys."

Margo's eyes narrow. "And what," she asks, more than a little icy, "gives you that impression? He's sucked _your_ dick at least twice now, Waugh. And I know you know about that thing he had going with Matterson in his second year."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "He was drunk all of those times, Bambi," he says. "Besides, who doesn't experiment a little in college? _I_ fucked _you_."

"Yeah, exactly once. And Quentin had a thing going with Matterson for _weeks._ He wasn't drunk for the whole thing. I hate to say it, El, but Julia's right. You're being a biphobic bitch, and as a bi person myself, I'm really fucking offended at that."

Eliot cringes. "All right," he says, "all right, I'm sorry. I'll tell him I'm sorry. I just... I didn't know what else to say."

"You could've said something that didn't invalidate a huge part of him?" Margo suggests archly. "Really, Eliot. I love you, but _come on._ The boy asked you to stay married to him. And from what you told me, it sounded like he was trying to buy himself some time to make a bigger confession."

"Bullshit," Eliot says, quick and harsh. He takes another long drink from his margarita. "Quentin might like boys, but he doesn't like _me._ "

Margo just stares at him for a long moment, one eyebrow raised. " _Quentin_ doesn't like you? Quentin, who followed you around like a goddamn puppy the first couple of weeks - and you were just as bad, Eliot, don't even front with me. Quentin, who came to you _first_ after he and Alice broke up, even before he went to _Julia._ Quentin, who kissed you _as soon as_ you woke up the night the three of us got trashed. Quentin, who fucking _proposed_ to you the next time the two of you were trashed together. _That_ Quentin?"

"Those two events were several years apart," Eliot argues. "The only common denominator is that Q needs to be a special kind of blackout drunk to see me as an option."

"Or maybe he needs some liquid courage to _act,_ " Margo counters. "You play your cards awfully close to your chest, baby. If I didn't know you so well, _I'd_ have a hard time believing you're as gone on him as you are."

Eliot's jaw tenses. "Just drop it, Margo," he snaps. "Please."

Margo's expression remains mulish for a long moment before she sighs. "Alright," she says. "Fine, I'll drop it." She takes another sip of her drink and then reaches for her own phone. "If we aren't going to talk about your love life, then let's talk about my wedding. I want your opinion on some things."

"My _drunk_ opinion?" Eliot asks, though he's clearly game.

"Drunk opinions are honest sober thoughts," Margo laughs. "C'mon, scoot in closer so you can see the detail on this tablecloth."

What can Eliot do except oblige?

* * *

Quentin gets home around ten the next morning, and is somewhat surprised to find Eliot, looking decidedly worse for wear, nursing a coffee at the island in the kitchen. He barely looks up when Quentin comes in, but he does nod his head in acknowledgement. "Hey," he murmurs.

"Hey," Quentin mutters, rubbing at his eyes. They still feel gritty from lack of sleep. He hadn't passed out until almost five in the morning, Julia having to almost literally carry him to the guest bedroom from the sheer amount of alcohol he and Julia had managed to consume - everything after that third bottle of wine is a little fuzzy. He _thinks_ he remembers Penny and Kady coming home at some point to him crying on Julia's shoulder, but they hadn't stuck around. "Sorry, ended up passing out at Julia's before I could text you."

Eliot shrugs. "It's fine," he says. "I was with Margo. I didn't even notice you hadn't come home, to be honest."

Quentin doesn't reply right away. "Right.Well, I'm gonna... go get a shower," he eventually says, gesturing in the direction of his bathroom. 

Eliot nods. "Sure."

Quentin disappears into the back of the apartment, and by the time he finally comes back out, hair wet, he feels decidedly more human. "So," he says, coming back into the kitchen to get some coffee for himself. "What did you and Margo get up to? I see the apartment's still in one piece."

Eliot doesn't seem to have moved at all, though the steam rising from his own mug suggests that his coffee is fresh. "We just got very drunk and looked at wedding stuff," he says. "I made margaritas."

Quentin hums tunelessly as he mixes creamer into his coffee. "What kind of wedding stuff? Thought she had everything figured out already."

"Just the finer details," Eliot says. "Table cloths and chair coverings."

Quentin nods, swearing when he burns his tongue on his first sip. Once he catches his breath, he asks, "What did you guys pick out?"

Eliot smiles. "You'll find out on the day." He takes a sip of his own coffee and sets the mug down with a sigh. "Look, Q. Julia texted me last night and very tactfully implied that I might have caused you some upset yesterday."

Quentin blanches. "What?"

"She might have called me a biphobic bitch," Eliot says. "And she... wasn't wrong."

Quentin very carefully puts his mug down - and then buries his face in his hands. "I _knew_ she was acting too smug last night," he mumbles. 

"This is me trying to apologise, here," Eliot says. "I know you're not straight. That was shitty of me to say."

Quentin sighs, shifting so he can sit up straight and run his fingers through his hair. "Really?"

Eliot nods. "Really," he says. "I mean, my other points stand, obviously, but I... I can't be _that gay_ who invalidates another queer person's experience. I'm an elitist snob, but not in that way, I swear. So I'm sorry."

Quentin studies Eliot for a long moment before he finally nods. "Alright. Apology accepted." He hesitates before adding, "While we're on the subject of yesterday, should... we talk about it?"

Eliot gives him a wan smile. "Do we really need to?" he asks. "We're not married anymore. What else is there to say?"

Quentin shrugs. "I mean, I figured while we were on the subject..."

"Quentin, it's done," Eliot says, not unkindly. "I suggest we stop dwelling on it and let everything go back to normal. In fact, I was thinking about going out tonight."

"Oh." Quentin fiddles with his mug for a moment before offering Eliot a smile. "Well, good. Have fun; I'm probably going to have a quiet night in."

"I mean, you could come," Eliot offers. "See if you can find anyone interesting to take home. Just maybe don't get married this time."

Quentin laughs, but there's something missing. "No, I - I'm not ready for that," he says, a touch too honest. "I'm just going to stay in, maybe go over lesson plans."

Eliot gives him a strange, searching look, and for a terrifying second Quentin thinks he might actually _see_ him - but then Eliot shrugs and goes back to his coffee. "Suit yourself," he says. "Don't wait up."

* * *

Quentin doesn't wait up that night, or any other night that Eliot goes out and comes home drunk - and with new company. He does thank his past self for insisting on an apartment with thick walls, because hearing what Eliot did with his company would have been too much altogether. It's more than he really wants to deal with just _knowing_ that they're in Eliot's room.

To distract himself, Quentin throws himself into his classes with renewed vigor until the day before Margo and Fen's wedding. The rehearsal goes off without a hitch, and they spend that evening helping the wedding planner decorate the venue and making sure everything is _just so._ It's the easiest time together that Quentin and Eliot have spent since they returned from Vegas, and it aches more than a little, that knowledge. Still, Quentin pushes it aside, lets Eliot fuss over his appearance before, during, and after their trip back to the venue the next day, and then tries not to get in the way and remember everything he's supposed to do during the ceremony. 

It's a beautiful ceremony, if somewhat brief. Margo wanted more focus on the party afterwards than on the legalities, but Quentin knows he's not the only one with tears in his eyes by the time the celebrant invites Margo and Fen to seal their union with a kiss. Even Eliot has a suspicious shine to his eyes when he looks over to share a smile with Quentin.

They wedding party is pulled away for photos before the drinks reception afterwards, and Quentin manages to slip away somewhere between the two. Eliot finds him at the bar after Margo and Fen have had their first dance. He gestures for the bartender to refill Quentin's drink and get him one, too. "Hey," he says. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," Quentin says, giving Eliot a smile. "There's just a lot of strange people here, I needed a moment to myself."

"Do you need me to go?" Eliot asks, concerned. "Or should we find a quiet corner, just the two of us?"

Quentin opens his mouth to reply, then shuts it abruptly when someone slides into the empty seat next to Eliot. "Excuse me," the newcomer says, offering Eliot a winning smile, "but you must be Eliot Waugh. I've heard quite a lot about you from Fen, and I was hoping I'd run into you tonight."

Eliot, ever the gentleman, smiles back. "I'm sorry," he says. "You are?"

"Mike," he says, holding out his hand to shake. "Mike McCormick."

Eliot shakes his hand, stealing a cautious glance at Quentin. "Well, hello, Mike," he says. "This is Quentin, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you, though I'm afraid I haven't heard nearly as much about you."

Mike gives Quentin a pleasant smile, though his attention quickly returns to Eliot. "Fen and I worked together on a few projects, and she mentioned her fiancee's best friend. She had... quite a lot of stories about you, and I was intrigued." He doesn't look in Quentin's direction as Quentin carefully slides out of his seat and sidles away from the bar, gone before Eliot can say anything to him. "Did you and Margo really organize a school-wide protest?"

"Yes," Eliot says, trying not to seem too distracted as he scans the crowd for Quentin. "Did you... see where my friend went?"

"Hm?" Mike turns, follows Eliot's gaze for a moment, then shrugs. "No, sorry."

Eliot struggles to spot Quentin for another moment, but he's nowhere to be seen. "Damn," he sighs, and turns back to Mike. The man is still smiling at him hopefully, and Eliot is being rude. "Sorry. Um. Did Fen tell you exactly what the protest was about?"

"No," Mike says, shifting in his seat until he's facing Eliot more fully. "I was kind of hoping you would."

* * *

Unlike with the bachelorette weekend, Quentin and Eliot have separate rooms at the wedding venue, something for which Eliot is eternally grateful because Mike doesn't have a room there at all. When they finally rise the next morning, unfashionably late for breakfast, they reach an unspoken agreement to shower separately and get the hell out of there. Eliot sees Mike off at the main entrance with a kiss and quickly makes his way into the dining room.

At his entrance, Margo pulls herself away from Fen just long enough to give him a pointed look and then turns back to her bride. Eliot pauses in the doorway, lets his gaze sweep the elaborately-dressed breakfast table. All of the wedding party are present and accounted for, with the exception of Eliot himself - and of course the seat left for him is right next to Quentin. Eliot steels himself and walks over with as much dignity as he can muster.

"Morning," he murmurs as he takes his seat, his head bowed so he can talk to Quentin alone. "I'm sorry for ditching you last night. Were you okay?"

" _I_ ditched _you_ ," Quentin points out with a slight smile. "It's fine, Eliot. I'm fine."

"I meant to come and find you, afterwards," Eliot says. "I just... got a little distracted."

Quentin hums idly. "I'm sure you did. What was his name, Mike? He seemed pretty intent on distracting you."

Eliot shrugs, uncharacteristically awkward. "We had a good time," he offers.

"That's good," Quentin says, turning his attention back to his plate. "Margo asked where you went when I told her I was heading out. Told her I saw you talking to someone, but hadn't seen you most of the night, so. Head's up."

Eliot grimaces. "I guess I have that coming," he admits. "Maybe she'll wait until after the honeymoon to tear me a new one."

"Maybe if you keep your head down," Quentin says, a teasing glint to his eyes. "Kind of difficult for someone as freakishly tall as you, but..."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Thanks," he says. "Solid advice, Q."

"You're welcome," Quentin says cheekily. "But if Margo comes for you anyway, I'm not gonna be your shield."

Eliot gives him a wry smile. "I deserve that," he allows.

Quentin grins, and seems to surprise himself by what he says next. "Mike seemed nice. Enough. A little... fanboy-ish."

Eliot laughs, surprised himself. "Yeah," he says. "It wore off by the end of the night, but I must have made a lasting impression anyway."

"Oh, yeah?" Quentin asks, sounding a bit like he's not sure what he wants the answer to be.

"We swapped numbers," Eliot admits.

"Oh." Quentin's not sure what his face does, but he forces it back into a smile. "That's - That's nice. You going to use it?"

"Probably," Eliot says, with a careless shrug. "Why not?"

* * *

Eliot does use it, repeatedly, though Quentin only hears about it second-hand after the fact. It's a distance he's glad to maintain, and one he misses sorely when he lets himself into their apartment after a night spent at Julia's to find Mike making coffee in his kitchen and Eliot nowhere to be seen.

Mike looks up when Quentin walks in, and Quentin actually watches the colour drain from his face. "Oh my god," he says vaguely. "Are you the boyfriend? He didn't tell me you were the boyfriend."

For a split second, a vicious part of Quentin wants to say that yeah, he _is_ the boyfriend - but he stomps that thought down fast enough that his expression barely twitches. "No, I'm just the roommate," he says, glancing around. "Where's El?"

"Still in bed," Mike says, looking all kinds of relieved. "I think we're having a lazy day."

"Ah." Quentin clears his throat, tells himself it’s ridiculous to feel jealous about Mike getting to spend a 'lazy day' with Eliot after Eliot made his feelings perfectly clear, and gives Mike a somewhat-strained smile. "He's a big fan of raspberry danishes; there's a couple from the last batch in the bread box by the fridge. I've got assignments to grade that I've been putting off, so I'll be out of your hair for the day."

Mike grins. "Thanks, man. I'll have to use you for the inside scoop more often."

Quentin barely manages to keep his smile in place long enough to give Mike a polite goodbye before all but fleeing to his room. 

* * *

Mike comes over once again before Margo and Fen finally return from their honeymoon. They set up a get together at Eliot's bar, and Quentin's looking forward to it; it's always chaotic when they get together, but he wouldn't trade any of it for the world. Quentin and Julia arrive together from Columbia to find Josh, Alice, and Penny already at one of the largest tables, Eliot dropping off drinks that include a pomegranate margarita for Quentin and a peach Moscow Mule for Julia. Julia slides into a seat next to Penny, curling up under his arm and accepting an easy kiss as Quentin slides in next to Alice. "I thought Kady was coming with you?" Julia asks Penny, picking up her drink. 

"Got held up with paperwork after looking into her latest lead," Penny says. "She should be here soon, though, she just texted me."

"Excellent," Eliot says. "Bambi and Mrs Bambi should be here--"

"What's up, bitches?"

Eliot spins on the spot and sweeps Margo up into a hug, grinning like an idiot. "Bambi!"

"Yeah, yeah, I missed you, too," Margo sighs, though she hugs back just as tight. "Don't think I'm letting you get away with ditching me on my wedding day."

Eliot kisses the top of her head. "Save it for tomorrow, darling," he says.

"Fine. But you can throw in a bottle of your fanciest champagne."

Eliot laughs. "Of course."

"You're a peach, El," Fen says, coming up on his other side to press a kiss to Eliot's cheek. "Come on, Margo, let's sit down and catch up with everyone."

"Yes, tell us about Ibiza!" Josh yells. "Was there as many nude beaches as you were promised?"

Kady arrives not long after, and Eliot keeps the drinks flowing while they spend a couple of hours catching up. He's up at the bar, procuring the latest round, when he feels Margo draw up behind him. He smiles. "Guess we're not leaving this for tomorrow."

"You'll find some other way of trying to put me off," Margo says. "So, c'mon, spill."

"There's not a lot to say," Eliot admits. "I am sorry, Bambi, truly. It's not an excuse, but I... I think I met someone."

Margo blinks. "You... met someone?"

"One of Fen's friends," Eliot says. "Mike McCormick. We've been spending a lot of time together."

Margo looks conflicted over this. "And... Q?"

Eliot looks around quickly, but relaxes when he spots Quentin and the rest of their friends still at their table. "What about Q?" he asks.

"I just - " Margo sighs. "You're both my friends, and I wish you would _talk_ to him, but. Is Mike worth it?"

"That's a big question, Bambi," Eliot says, frowning. "He's a sweetheart. It's going well."

Margo searches his expression for a long moment. "Okay," she says. "But don't get invested in this Mike boy if you're still hung up on Q, sweetheart. That way lies heartbreak for everyone."

Eliot smiles. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

That earns an eyeroll. "Of course you don't. Bring that last round over, El. I suddenly desperately need this last hit of alcohol."

"I'll be right there," Eliot promises. Right after he's done several tequila shots while she's not looking.

* * *

Almost two weeks later presents Quentin with the first opportunity to really relax since Margo and Fen's wedding. He doesn't have anything to grade and he's actually planned a couple of lessons ahead for once, and with Eliot gone for the night taking care of his bar... Well, Quentin seizes the opportunity with both hands. He queues up _The Fellowship of the Ring,_ makes a frankly ridiculous amount of popcorn with an equally ridiculous amount of butter and salt, grabs a couple of sweet teas from the fridge, and settles in for a night bingeing one of his favorite series. He doesn't have class until tomorrow afternoon, he can _totally_ fit all nine hours of the extended editions in before he has to go to sleep. 

Bilbo has passed along his ring to Frodo and Frodo has taken the ring to Rivendell, and is currently sat among squabbling representatives of the major races and kingdoms of Middle Earth by the time Quentin registers the fact that he's not alone. This fact is brought to his attention by the other end of the couch sinking under someone's weight, and Quentin yelps, startled, and nearly sends his half-empty bowl of popcorn flying before he realizes it's Eliot. " _Fuck!_ What the hell, I thought you were working late tonight?"

"I got bored," Eliot says, "and Tick has everything in hand." He reaches over into Quentin's lap to steal a handful of popcorn. "If I'd known what we were watching, I'd have come home sooner."

Quentin sits frozen for another moment before he slowly uncurls just slightly. "It was... a spur of the moment thing," he says slowly, turning back to where Frodo is now proclaiming his intent to take the One Ring to Mordor. "I had some free time, so."

"Well, so do I," Eliot says. "And I can hardly pass up an opportunity to swoon over Aragorn. Unless you wanted to be alone?"

Quentin takes a slow, deep breath. "No, it's - it's fine." He uncurls more, tilts the bowl towards Eliot so he can take another handful of popcorn. 

Eliot does just that, and even smiles. "Thanks, Q."

They settle into what feels to Quentin like a somewhat strained silence, the movie providing the only noise in the apartment. They haven't had a movie night in _months,_ and Quentin abruptly remembers that the last time they'd done this, they'd watched _The Hobbit_ movies. Most of those nine hours had been spent comparing the dwarves, elves, humans, and Bilbo and developing an elaborate drunken rating system. Eliot had been absolutely adamant that Bard deserved to be on top of that list, purely due to the fact that he was played by _Luke Evans,_ but Quentin had been partial to Thorin and Thranduil himself. 

The single cushion of space between them feels far larger than it has any right to, even as Quentin and Eliot share the popcorn between them. Then again, the gulf between the two of them has been widening ever since their brief, ill-fated marriage, so Quentin supposes he shouldn't be surprised that it feels so _difficult_ to sit here with Eliot. 

Eliot, who apparently doesn't feel the same. Between the time _The Two Towers_ starts and Sam and Frodo have had their first encounter with Smeagol, Eliot is out like a light, curled up on his cushion and tucked against the arm of the couch, snoring lightly. Quentin only feels slightly guilty for taking the opportunity to stare openly, _longingly,_ at Eliot. He hasn't had the opportunity since Vegas, and... 

Well, and that's his own fucking fault, isn't it? If he'd just come out and _said_ \- 

But there's no use dwelling on what he should have done, not when Eliot spends most nights texting Mike when he isn't going out to meet Mike or bringing him back to the apartment. Quentin had his chance, and he blew it. 

He forces himself to turn back to the television, idly picking through the last of the popcorn as the movie plays out, Pippin and Merry convincing the Ents to march on Isengard, Faramir letting Sam and Frodo go to continue their quest as the rest of the Fellowship reunites at the newly-formed lake. When it's done, Quentin shuts the television off, setting the popcorn bowl to the side and stretching, swearing when his back pops. 

Eliot startles awake. "Q?" he asks, sitting up. "Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Quentin chuckles, giving Eliot a small smile. "It's fine. I'm going to head to bed; you should, too, or your back is gonna hate you in the morning."

"I think it already does," Eliot admits. He gets to his feet with a groan. "God. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just not up to staying up for another three hours, even for Legolas and Gimli's love story," Quentin chuckles. "I'll see you in the morning, El."

Eliot nods. "Goodnight, Q."

* * *

The good thing about owning a bar is that Eliot rarely needs to be there in the daytime. Other people do, sure, but that's what delegating is for - and Eliot is making the most of that right now, what with having Mike stay over and indulging in epic, very loud morning sex while Quentin is out teaching his classes. They shower separately afterwards, but Mike still has nowhere to be, so Eliot lends him a robe and tells him to get the coffee started while he works on breakfast.

The buzzing of the intercom is unexpected, but not necessarily surprising. Still, Eliot has his hands busy with eggs and bacon, so he turns to Mike with a sweet smile. "It's probably just the mailman, can you get that?" he asks.

Mike leans in for a kiss before he does so, heading over to the front door and pressing the button. "Who is it?"

"Darren Waugh," a gruff voice answers. "I need to talk to Eliot."

Eliot drops his spatula. "Shit," he hisses, and then again. "Shit. Can you--?" He flails at Mike, meaning for them to swap places, and thankfully Mike understands, swooping in to save their breakfast while Eliot walks up to the intercom. "Darren, is this terribly important? I'm kind of in the middle of something, here."

"You think I'd be here if it _wasn't_ important?" Darren says irritably, voice crackling over the intercom. 

Eliot screws his eyes shut. "Goddamn it," he says, "fine." He lets him in.

It only takes a few minutes for there to be a knock on the door, and when Eliot opens it, Darren is standing on the other side. The family resemblance is strong; Darren is just as tall as Eliot, with the same eyes and hair, but he's broader, more muscular in a way that suggests strength built from hard labor and not long hours in the gym. "Eliot," he says, stiff; it's been years since they've spoken face to face. 

"Darren," Eliot says, just as stilted. "Come on in. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Darren only comes far enough into the apartment for the door to close behind him. "I was in town on business, and thought you should hear the news in person," he says, gaze flicking over the apartment before coming back to rest on Eliot. "Dad's dead."

Eliot blinks. "Oh," he says. "Right."

"Complications from surgery. The funeral is - " Darren stops, blinking before he frowns at something just over Eliot's shoulder. "Who're you?"

"Oh," Eliot says again. "This is Mike."

"Hi," Mike says, cheerfully enough. "I'm Eliot's boyfriend."

Eliot closes his eyes.

Darren's eyebrows make an impressively quick round trip from furrowed to his hairline and back to furrowed again. "Your _boyfriend?_ " he repeats, glaring at Eliot. "So you're not only fucking gay, you're a fucking cheater, too?" He snorts. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"A cheater?" Mike asks, perplexed. "Eliot, what is he talking about?"

"It was lovely to see you, Darren," Eliot says at exactly the same moment. "I really don't care when Dad's funeral is, so if you could just--"

"Right, of course," Darren scoffs. "And we thought getting married in _Vegas_ would be the lowest you could sink. Still as big a fucking disappointment as ever." He goes without further protest, the door swinging shut behind him and leaving an echoing sort of silence behind him. 

The silence remains for several long moments before Mike asks, clearly bewildered, " _Married?_ "

Eliot cannot deal with any of this right now. "I cannot deal with any of this right now," he says, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, can we just-- take a raincheck?"

"A rain check?" Mike repeats, incredulous. "After your brother just said you were married? No, Eliot! I'm not about to take a _rain check_ on something like that! Who the fuck are you married to?"

"No one!" Eliot snaps. "I'm not married. I was, but I'm not anymore, it's not a thing."

"Why the hell does your brother still think you're married, then?" Mike retorts. "And getting married in _Vegas?_ Did you marry some stranger?"

"What about that heartwarming little reunion makes you think my family knows anything about my life?" Eliot demands, furious. "Yes, I got married in Vegas, and my family still thinks I'm married because they saw it on _Facebook_ when I posted it on an account I never use because I was _wasted_. And it wasn't some random, it was _Quentin_."

That last brings Mike up short. " _Quentin?_ " he asks, eyes wide - and then he frowns. "You got married to your roommate?"

"While we were drunk off our asses on Margo's bachelorette weekend," Eliot repeats. "Are you fucking listening to me? This is a non-issue to end non-issues."

Mike studies Eliot for a long, _long_ moment before he says anything. "Are you really sure about that?" he asks, quieter than anything else he's said since Darren showed up. "You _married_ him."

Eliot closes his eyes. "Oh my god," he says, "why are you so stuck on this? He's my best friend, and in case if you suddenly turned deaf during my brother's poorly-timed drop-in, my _father just died._ "

"You don't seem all that close to your family," Mike says, then takes a deep breath. "Look. I think... Quentin has never been comfortable with me, and _you've_ made as much effort as you can to keep me away from him. I think maybe you need to reconsider whether it's really such a non-issue." His expressions softens into something regretful. "It's not fair to try to make me play second fiddle to the guy you got drunk-married to and _bragged about_ to your homophobic family. It's not fair to any of us."

"That is not what's happening here," Eliot insists, but it's weak, lacking conviction. "Mike, come on."

Mike sighs. "I don't think you're sure about that," he says quietly, taking a step back from Eliot. "Look, I'm going to go get dressed. Figure out what's really going on, and... Figure out what you need to be happy, Eliot. If it's being with me, great. Give me a call. But we both deserve better than trying to make something work when one of us is in love with someone else."

Eliot just watches him leave the room, his jaw slack with shock. Well, fuck.

* * *

Quentin hadn't planned on being home quite this early, but when Margo had texted him saying that Eliot had texted _her_ telling her that one of his brothers had been by the apartment and there'd been a fight... Well, Quentin had cancelled his last class of the day and practically ran the entire way back to their apartment. "El?" he calls, as soon as he's got the door open. "Margo texted me, told me Darren dropped by. What happened?"

At first all Quentin sees is Eliot's feet dangling over the arm of the couch, and he thinks maybe Eliot is asleep, but then he pops his head up over the back of it and gives Quentin a glassy-eyed smile that means only one thing: Eliot is drunk. "Quentin!" he cries. "You didn't need to rush home for little old me. I'm _fine_."

Quentin frowns. "Yeah, because you look totally fine," he says slowly. "What happened with your brother? Why was he here?"

Eliot laughs, high and shrill. "Wait for it," he says. "Are you ready? To tell me my _dad died_."

"Oh. That's - Shit. I mean, you never got along with them, but..."

"But it's still my dad," Eliot finishes, sobering somewhat. "He tried to tell me when the funeral was, but I kicked him out before he could. I don't care anyway, I don't want to go."

Quentin hesitates for a moment before coming around the side of the couch, nudging Eliot's legs out of the way so he can sit next to Eliot. "He was being a dick about it, wasn't he?"

Eliot laughs again. "That, and everything else," he says.

"Everything else?"

"He and every other relative I have on that stupid Facebook account thinks we're still married," Eliot elaborates. "He told Mike."

" _Oh,_ " Quentin breathes, the pieces falling into place. "Oh shit. That - didn't end so well, I bet." He glances towards the kitchen, where he can just see a pan on the stove and a bottle of orange juice still on the counter. "And explains the half-finished breakfast."

Eliot nods. "I'm pretty sure he broke up with me, so."

Quentin frowns. "Wait, what? Why? You told him we got that annulled, right?"

"Of course I did," Eliot says, annoyed. "But he-- he thinks I'm in love with you? So he told me to deal with my shit and stop stringing him along."

Quentin stares at Eliot for a long moment before he barks a laugh, a sharp, far-too-harsh sound. "He thinks _you're_ in love with _me?_ Yeah, okay, pull the other one, El."

Eliot gives him a strained smile. "Yeah," he says, "right? But he wouldn't listen, and he just walked out, so. Guess I'm a free agent again."

"Yeah, well. You've never been exactly subtle making sure people know what you think of them or others," Quentin says, meeting Eliot's gaze for a moment before glancing down at his hands, fisted in his lap. "If he didn't believe you, that's his fault."

"I guess," Eliot says. He sighs. "But who cares? My asshole father is dead, my brothers still think I'm a filthy sinner, and my almost-boyfriend ditched me - at least I still have wine!"

Quentin lifts his head, looks at Eliot with something a little tentative and a lot soft. "And me. You've got me, too."

Eliot does his best to smile back.

* * *

True to his word, Quentin sticks with Eliot for the rest of the night. He cleans the remnants of Eliot's failed breakfast with Mike up, cooks them dinner and makes Eliot eat it, and even joins him for a glass or five of wine. Eliot is well on his way to smashed by the time Quentin gets up for his own glass, so although he gets a little tipsy himself, by the time they're finished Quentin also helps Eliot to bed. It's the sweetest thing anyone's done for Eliot in a long time, and he tries his best to express that in his own garbled way. He's not sure if Quentin gets the message, but he doesn't stay when Eliot asks him to. It's probably for the best.

It's definitely for the best. Eliot is decidedly worse for wear the next morning, and just lies in bed for a couple of long hours staring at the ceiling before he feels like it's safe to sit up. He's not at the stage where he needs to eat all the bacon in the city yet, but he does need to pee, and he could probably do with a glass of water or six. So he gets out of bed, pulls on his robe, and leaves his room.

He doesn't mean to be quiet, doesn't really mean to do anything at all except head a few doors down to the bathroom, but as soon as he enters the living area he sees Quentin. He's already fully dressed, sitting in the middle of the sofa and hunched over, apparently gazing very intently at something small in his hands. Ever curious, Eliot draws near, trying to peer over the back of the sofa and Quentin's head to see what he's holding. He catches a glint of gold, but nothing else.

"What's that?" he asks.

Quentin swears and jumps, and the object falls from his hands, bouncing across the rug to come to a stop by Eliot's foot. " _Fuck!_ " Quentin yelps, frantic, trying to dive for the small, golden ring on the floor. 

Eliot, though he's arguably further from the floor, gets there first. He bends and scoops up the ring, examines it with a critical eye - and then holds it up toward the ceiling when Quentin tries to snatch it from him. "Is this your wedding ring?" he demands.

"It's _a_ ring," Quentin hedges, tone desperate. "Seriously, Eliot, give it back. It's nothing for you to worry about."

"It is," Eliot realises, staring at him. “It's your wedding ring. Why do you still have this?"

"I never got around to getting rid of it?" Quentin tries. 

"That doesn't explain why you're just sitting here holding it," Eliot presses.

Quentin's expression turns mulish, though there's something an awful lot like fear in his eyes. "I don't have to explain myself to you, El, now seriously. _Give it back._ "

"No," Eliot says. He closes his hand around the ring, his heart racing. "I don't think I will."

" _Eliot,_ " Quentin says, tone sounding like he's trying to make it warning but it misses the mark by a mile, coming out fearful and just a little desperate. "This _really_ isn't the time for your fucking games."

"No," Eliot agrees, "I think it's the time for you to explain why the fuck you still have this ring."

Quentin scowls, taking a step back. "I don't owe you a goddamn thing, Eliot," he snaps. "Especially not an explanation about what I choose to do with something I bought."

"You're scared," Eliot realises, finally. His eyes widen. "Why are you scared? Q, it's just a ring, it's not even real gold."

"And it wasn't a real marriage, and yet - " Quentin cuts himself off with a shake of his head, taking another step back. "Whatever," he mutters, shoulders hunching as he jams his hands into his pockets. "Just - Whenever you decide to quit being a dick, give it back. I'm gonna go get breakfast started."

"Wait," Eliot says, reaching out to stop Quentin with a hand on his arm. "I don't understand what's going on here. Please, Q."

Quentin jerks his arm out from under Eliot's hand like he's been burned. "What the fuck is there to not _understand,_ El?" he demands. "I asked you to keep our _fake, drunken_ marriage and then I _did_ keep the cheap-ass fake gold ring! You’re hungover, not fucking stupid."

Eliot's jaw doesn't drop, but it's a near thing. "Oh my god," he says faintly. "Are you in love with me?"

Quentin's jaw _does_ drop, and then his expression morphs into something that's frankly beyond furious. "I don't know, Eliot," he says, chilly for all the heat in his gaze. "Am I in love with you? I mean, I basically _threw_ myself at you, proposed to you, and got married to you in a ceremony where I distinctly remember vowing to love you. I sucked your dick _again_ and then _let you fuck me,_ and the day we got our marriage annulled I went and got drunk on cheap wine at Julia's and cried to her about how you couldn't fucking _wait_ to be un-married to me, and I had to come back here the next day and pretend that everything was _fine!_ " His voice climbs higher in volume until he's shouting the last three words, but there's a raw, strangled quality to it, and a suspicious wetness at the corners of his eyes. 

"Quentin," Eliot says, somewhat breathlessly. "You didn't-- I thought-- We agreed it was a _mistake_."

"No, I offered that as an excuse because you looked so _fucking_ horrified when you realized what we did," Quentin says bitterly, his voice sharp, brittle.

"I was horrified," Eliot says, his mind whirling too fast for him to keep up. "The last thing I wanted to do was drunkenly marry you in _Vegas_."

"Yeah, I think I got that part loud and clear," Quentin bites out. "It's why I brought up the whole concept of divorce in the first place the morning after."

"You didn't want to get a divorce," Eliot says. "Except you said it was because of the financial benefits of being married - not because you wanted to be with _me_."

Quentin takes a deep, shuddering breath, and seems like he can't make himself look at Eliot while he confesses, voice _choked,_ "I was trying to buy myself time to figure out how to ask you out on a proper date, if nothing else."

"Quentin," Eliot says again. He takes a step closer, but he doesn't reach out, not yet. "I didn't know."

"Yeah," Quentin sighs, taking a step back and maintaining the distance between them. "Obviously. Look, I'm - You're up, and - and walking around. I'm gonna... I'm gonna go to Julia's. I'll text Margo, ask her to come keep you company, maybe bring a hangover breakfast."

"What? No." Eliot moves forward again, crowding Quentin toward the chair across from the couch. "I'm fucking this up so horribly, but I need you to not leave."

Quentin looks confused, more than a little apprehensive, but not afraid as Eliot maneuvers him around the living room. "What - What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to do this," Eliot says. He's finally close enough to take Quentin's hand, so that's exactly what he does. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Q, since I met Margo. When I woke up that morning and realised what we'd done, I panicked. I thought I'd ruined everything."

Quentin blinks, looking down at their joined hands like he can't quite believe that's a thing that's happening. "What?"

"God, Q," Eliot sighs. "You've always been so brave. You asked me for what you wanted and I shot you down because I was so scared, I couldn't let myself believe that you meant it. If I'd known..." He shakes his head. "Well, I probably still would have insisted on an annulment, honestly."

Quentin frowns, hand spasming in Eliot's as he looks up, suspicious. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

"Absolutely," Eliot says, "because getting married in Vegas is fucking stupid, Quentin, it's boring. Peasants do that. You deserve so much better."

Quentin blinks, clearly thrown. "What?"

Eliot tries again. " _We_ deserve so much better."

Quentin's hand spasms in Eliot's again, and he takes a reflexive step back, nearly stumbling over the chair. "Eliot, you don't - Just because _I_ \- "

Eliot reaches out with his free hand to steady him, careful not to drop the ring. "'Just because' nothing," he says. "I'm in love with you."

"What?" Quentin's eyes widen in shock. "You’re... No, that's - I'd think I'd know if my best friend was in love with me! You're not exactly subtle, Eliot!"

"I'm also spectacularly self-sabotaging," Eliot says. "I didn't think you could ever feel the same way, so I've spent the past few... years... shutting everything down and being grateful that I got to be your friend."

Quentin looks like he's struggling to reconcile this new knowledge with what he thought he'd known for years. "But - After we woke up, and that night, how could you _not_ think I was in love with you?"

"Because I'm _me_ , Q," Eliot says desperately. "My own family hates me. I reinvented myself into a whole different person as soon as I left home, and that person is a disaster. You and Margo had to hold me up all through grad school while I struggled with multiple addictions. I found out my fucking dad died yesterday and I couldn't even bring myself to give a shit! What about me is worthy of someone like you?"

"Your dad was the worst out of your whole family and doesn't deserve you giving a shit," Quentin says immediately, then frowns. "You guys held _me_ up through my depressive episodes, and we held Margo up through the whole process of getting her designs accepted. That's what friends _do,_ Eliot. You're not a disaster just because you struggled with something and needed help."

"What about what I did to Mike?" Eliot asks. "He wasn't wrong yesterday. I strung him along for weeks because I couldn't face you."

"We weren't together," Quentin points out. "And unless you told him you love him and you don't... You wouldn't be the first person to try another relationship while you're in love with someone else you think is unobtainable."

Eliot frowns. "You sound like you're talking from experience," he says.

Quentin shrugs one shoulder, can't quite meet Eliot's gaze when he says, "Because I am."

'What?"

Quentin laughs quietly, a little self-deprecating. "There was a reason mine and Alice's last attempt at a relationship only lasted a couple of weeks."

Eliot's eyes go round with understanding. "Oh my god," he breathes. "Why are we both so stupid?"

This time, Quentin's laugh sounds a little more natural, comes a little easier. "I mean, Margo would probably say it's because we're guys?"

Eliot laughs, too, and swipes at a suspicious wetness beneath his eyes. "She'd probably be right," he says. "Fuck. Have I fucked it all up now anyway?"

"I - I don't know," Quentin says, and he sounds nervous again, but he still meets Eliot's gaze. "What exactly is 'it'?"

"This," Eliot says, gesturing between them. "Us. Have I blown my chance?"

Quentin takes a shaky breath. "I'm - If we do this, I'm going to be all in. And if... If you decide it's a mistake, or that - that you need to run after the first date, it. It'll _wreck_ me," he says, painfully honest. "I can't do that twice, Eliot."

Eliot lets go of Quentin's hand, just so that he can touch Quentin's face. "It won't come to that," he says, soft but sure. "If you give me this chance, I swear, I won't waste it being scared."

Quentin searches Eliot’s gaze for a long, lingering moment before he moves. Slowly, he lifts his hand until he can rest it directly over Eliot’s heart. “You’re sure?”

Eliot doesn't waver. "Yes," he says. "It's my turn to be brave."

Quentin wets his lips, takes a deep breath - and nods, leaning into Eliot's hand. "Okay," he whispers.

Eliot's smile is so soft, as is the thumb he sweeps gently against Quentin's cheek - and the kiss he presses to his lips.

Quentin sighs, his hand sliding up Eliot's chest to rest on his shoulder as he leans into the kiss. It stays soft and gentle, but when they finally part Quentin's still breathless. "I wanted to do that when we woke up," he confesses, eyes still closed. "I would've, if we hadn't gotten distracted."

"Me too," Eliot admits. "When I saw you next to me, all I could think was _finally_."

Quentin's smile is small as he finally opens his eyes, searching Eliot's gaze intently. "Well, we got here eventually. No urge to run?"

Eliot smiles. "Nothing of the sort," he says. "You?"

"Not at all," Quentin says, smile growing. "Kiss me again?"

"Well, when you ask so nicely," Eliot says, and he's smiling into the next kiss.

Quentin's laughing when they pull apart after more than one kiss, and when his hand drifts down to cover Eliot's hand, still holding his ring, he bites his lip. "Could I have this back now?" he asks, looking up at Eliot through his lashes. "It - Well. It means a lot to me."

Eliot blinks, smiles, and unfurls his fingers until Quentin can take the ring. "Of course," he says. "As long as you know it's just a placeholder until I get you a better one."

Quentin laughs. "I hope you're planning a better proposal than _that._ "

Eliot winks. "Baby, you've got no idea."

* * *

Margo and Julia both congratulate and berate Quentin and Eliot for finally getting their heads out of their asses - and for taking so long to do it in the first place. The next night at Eliot’s bar, more than a little money passes between the rest of their friends, and Quentin can’t decide whether to be amused or offended that almost the entirety of their social circle had been _betting_ on them. He settles on amused, when Eliot pulls him in close and presses a kiss to his temple; they _were_ pretty damn oblivious. 

With the air finally completely clear between them in years, precious little changes in Eliot and Quentin’s apartment. They get their easy physical affection back - with the added bonus of not having to hold back any time either of them gets the urge to reach out and pull the other into a kiss, or directly into their lap - and Quentin can’t remember a time when he was happier. That’s not to say that everything is _perfect_. They’re both messes, contrary to what they think of each other, and when they fight, it gets ugly _fast._ Quentin still tends to bottle things up and Eliot still turns to a literal bottle far too quickly for Quentin’s liking, but they’re learning to be better to and _for_ each other.

They make it work, and every day it works a little better, a little easier. 

When their lease is up on their apartment almost a year later, Quentin and Eliot decide to make the move out of the very center of New York City to a place a little closer to the edge, in a slightly quieter neighborhood. It’s closer to Margo and Fen’s home, and to Julia, Penny, and Kady’s place, as well. The best part, in Quentin’s mind at least, is that this new apartment allows pets. Quentin’s started none-too-subtly sending Eliot links and pictures of cute shelter animals that cross his facebook feed. He’s sent pictures of a particular one - a cute, shaggy little mutt of a thing called Gerald - to Eliot on several occasions, but hasn’t quite gotten up the nerve to ask Eliot about actually adopting Gerald. 

He’s pretty sure that Eliot would go for it, but anxiety is a bitch, and Quentin keeps overthinking how the discussion might go, all the horrible ways it could end, and then he just… doesn’t say anything, or changes the subject. 

Still, Quentin feels a little disappointed when he sees the post on his facebook feed congratulating Gerald for finally being adopted - he’d had some medical issues that had put potential adopters off in the past, the volunteer at the shelter had told Quentin the one time he’d managed to get up the courage to call and ask about Gerald. He sees the post as he’s riding the elevator up to their new apartment after a long day of classes, and he spares a moment to like it before stepping out of the elevator and heading down the hall to his and Eliot’s apartment. “El, I’m home,” he calls out, swearing when his key sticks in the lock. “Anything interesting happen today?”

There's a strange thumping noise from somewhere inside the apartment, but then Eliot appears, pushing Quentin's hand away from the door and easing the key from the lock effortlessly. "Nothing at all," he says smoothly, and ducks down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of Quentin's mouth. "How was your day, darling, do you want a drink?"

Quentin reaches out to pull Eliot in for a proper kiss before he replies. "I could go for a cup of tea. We had a discussion on _Lolita_ today."

"Did it go well?" Eliot asks. He rests a hand against the small of Quentin's back and guides him further into the apartment. "Sit down, I'll bring it over."

"Thanks," Quentin sighs. "And it did, eventually. Had the usual straight boys trying to take Humphrey's - " Quentin pauses just before he sits on the couch, frowning. "What was that?" he asks, as another small _thump_ comes from... behind the couch?

Eliot gives him a mysterious smile. "Just a little housewarming present," he says. "It can wait, though, if you want your tea first."

"Well, now I'm curious," Quentin complains, though he's grinning. "What is it?"

Eliot grins back. "I guess I'll show you," he says. "Close your eyes?"

"Dramatic," Quentin teases, but he does as requested. 

"No peeking," Eliot warns, a smile in his voice. Quentin hears him moving behind the couch; the thumping gets louder, more vigorous, and then something big and surprisingly heavy is placed in his lap. Quentin automatically puts his hands out to steady what feels like a cardboard box. He can feel it moving. "All right, you can look."

It _is_ a cardboard box, but... Whatever's inside of it makes the box wobble, and Quentin widens his knees to steady it. He gives Eliot a curious look, but quickly pulls the untaped flaps open - and then his jaw drops. " _El,_ " he breathes, carefully reaching into the box and pulling out the gift inside. Quentin lets the box fall from his knees, too distracted with the shaggy brown puppy currently trying to wriggle its way out of his hands and up to his face. " _You_ adopted Gerald?"

Eliot grins and sinks into the seat beside Quentin, pressing up against him so he can reach out and tickle the puppy under the chin. "You dropped enough hints, Q," he says. "Like I could pass up the opportunity to put that smile on your face."

Quentin cuddles Gerald close, shifting so that he can press a kiss to Eliot's cheek. "Thank you, honey," he says, grinning. "Best housewarming present ever."

"But wait," Eliot says, giving Quentin a playful nudge. "There's more."

" _More?_ " Quentin echoes, raising an eyebrow as he passes a hand over Gerald's head, stroking down - and pauses when he realizes that what he'd thought was a collar is actually a ribbon. Quentin shifts Gerald in place - unable to resist giving him a swift kiss to the top of the head as he does so - and takes a closer look. This time, El's name is choked as it falls from his lips, and his finger is trembling more than a little as he reaches out to touch the ring hanging from the ribbon around Gerald's neck. 

"That one's real gold," Eliot tells him conspiratorially. "Only the best for my fiancé."

"You asshole," Quentin says, but it's fond as he quickly unties the ribbon and slips the ring off, looking at it through a sheen of happy tears. 

He's not the only one affected, and Eliot's smiling as he gently takes the ring from Quentin. "I want to do it right this time," he murmurs. "So what do you say? Will you marry me?"

"You _asshole,_ " Quentin repeats, but he immediately reaches out and pulls Eliot in close, Gerald between them. "Of course I'll marry you, you dick."

"You're supposed to let me put it on you," Eliot laughs, but he goes to Quentin willingly, and even steals a kiss. Gerald barks and licks Quentin's cheek.

Quentin laughs as well, ruffling Gerald's fur as he pulls back. "Alright, alright, put it on me, then."

It takes some juggling of the excitable puppy between them, but Eliot grasps Quentin's left hand at last, and slides the ring onto his finger. "Look at that," he teases. "It fits."

"Should damn well hope it would," Quentin laughs, leaning in for a long, drugging kiss. "I really fucking love you, Eliot, you know that?"

"Well I do now," Eliot says, grinning back at him. "I love you, too."

And, well, what can Quentin do except kiss his fiancé again?


End file.
